Still in Silence
by HollyBush
Summary: Dean struggles to hold onto his sanity and Sam struggles to hold onto his brother. Set somewhere after 3.10
1. Chapter 1

**Still in Silence.**

**Author's note:** I have absolutely no idea where this came from. No idea. It all started with a challenge that Darksupernatural presented me with: bring a legend from your own backyard to the Winchesters. It seems so clean and simple. And, before I know what happened, I am writing this. It is now a mix of a local legend, my own thoughts and stories and a Dutch book I once read ('De verborgen bron' by Hella Haasse. Translated literally as 'The hidden source'). But, honestly, I don't know what this is.

**Disclaimer: **Mr. Kripke, sir, I bow to you. Ms Gamble; I am not fit to lick your boots and am fully aware of that, but would it have killed you to spare Mr Henrickson's life? I like him, damn it! A disclaimer for Hella Haasse as well, because it's been a while since I read the book and I can only recall the way I felt when I read it. I guess this is how I felt, Anything that looks like it came from the book: I'm sure it did and it is not mine.

Takes place somewhere after 3.10 'Dream a little dream of me'.

**With a huge, huge thank you to Sabine, who read this story many more times than I have, guided, supported and gave me the courage to post it. Sabine, trust me, this is as much your story as it is mine!**

* * *

**Still in Silence. **

_Each morning I get up, I die a little. _

_(Somebody to love – Queen)_

" Why again, are we going to..." Sam's brow furrowed as he glanced down at the piece of paper in his lap. "...Rozenbourgh?"

Dean but back an irritated sigh and forced his hands to relax on the weel.

"Because there might be a hunt there, Sam. How many times are you going to ask me this exactly?"

"Until I get an answer that satisfies me. I just don't understand why we are driving all this way to this little hellhole in the absolute middle of nowhere, just because some guy in a bar was bragging about a haunted house."

"You don't know he was just bragging, Sam. He might actually be right."

"He might not. He was working his way through his second bottle by then."

"So that idiot might have seen 'House on a haunted hill' one time too many. Are you willing to take that chance?" Dean looked over at his little brother. "This is our job, or have you conveniently forgot?"

"Oh, don't give me that. I know what our job is. I also know there are more important things to be spending time on."

That made Dean fall silent. It wasn't as if he hadn't known from the start that this was what his little brother was fretting about.

Ever since his asdmittance that he didn't want to go to hell, Sam had been man on a mission more than ever and although he stood by his words, that he really didn't want to die, he also didn't want to stop doing what he did. Hunting was who he was. He might be angry about that, he might resent it sometimes but it was also what made him move, kept him on his feet. Whether he had chosen this life or had been forced into it; it was what he did.

He took a deep breath again and tried to relax his throat. He needed to keep Sam calm, give him something to work with.

"Sam, I know. Okay? I do. But I can't just stop hunting. It's what I do. It's what I _want_ to do. So how about we just go and check this out and if it turns out to be nothing, we'll turn back around and go wherever the hell it is you wanna go. And if it _is_ something, well then, I am willing to let you mope and pine while I go out and kill the bad guys, alright?"

A small smile fought its way onto Sam's lips, battling the annoyance at this typical Dean-behavior. Some things would never change.

"Alright."

* * *

They had made their way to the ancient town of Rozenbourgh with surprising little difficulties. Maybe that had something to do with the town not actually being ancient. In fact, it hadn't been built until after the second world war and, therefore, everything in the small town looked relatively new.

They had found a small and rather dank bed-and-breakfast near the end of town and an even smaller and danker bar-meets-diner. Now, Sam's eyes were glued to the screen of his laptop as he, reluctantly, searched for information on the town. Sam hadn't been completely wrong when he'd said that a drunkenass bragstory from a guy at a bar was very little to go on. The guy had been letting Dean play his money out of his coatpockets with no complaints when he'd started telling a story about his hometown where there was a house that nobody dared to go into because it was haunted, even though nothing had actually really happened there to make them think that. Dean had halfway through the tale decided that it was at least 90 bullshit and hadn't really planned on doing anything with it but when they'd awoken the next morning and Sam's face wore the expression he'd been wearing all too often, Dean had decided they could really use a distraction. He'd hounded Sam in going after it, preaching about how this was their job and they did what they did, but the ugly truth hidden within that halftruth was that even Dean couldn't care less about this hunt. All he cared about right now was pushing the deal and his impending doom as far away as he possibly could, if not for him, then for Sam. He'd meant it when he said that he didn't want to die, didn't want to spend eternity suffering in some helldimension, but he also knew that, given Ruby's semi-trustworthy remarks, it would be damn near impossible to get him out of it. No matter how badly he wanted to stay out of hell, no matter how badly Sam wanted to save him, the deal stood firm and his days were passing with alarming speed.

* * *

He stood outside of the hotel, his hands jammed into his pockets, waiting for his little brother to finish his beautyregime. The chilly wind slammed into his face without much sound. He felt his mouth, nose, ears go numb. The way they did when you were shoveling snow. Not that he shoveled snow an awful lot. It made him draw his coat tighter around him. He really ought to get a warmer coat, but as soon as the thought hit, he knew he wouldn't. It was _his_ coat. Fit him better anyway. He bounced back and forth as he tried to make Sam hurry the hell up with the sheer force of his mind. He had suggested they go into town to eat and see if they could find out some more about that so-called haunted house from the locals. Sam's eyebrows had shot up at his brother's suggestion in a way that clearly showed his doubt about this entire hunt and he had agreed in a way that even more clearly showed he was only going along with this for Dean's sake. He hated both that look and that tone with fervor. When Sam finally made it out of the hotel, the older brother was about ready to strike a punch.

"Finally made it out of there, huh? I was beginning to think that maybe those ghosts had made their way from the house into the hotelroom."

Sam just rolled his eyes at that.

"Yeah, well. If you made an effort to clean up your own shit every now and then, I wouldn't have taken so long. I don't get why you're so anxious to get out there, anyway. I researched this whole freaking town and came up with absolutely nothing."

"Since when is that ground to say this is not a hunt, Sam?"

"Since you've started taking on every hunt you can find, just so you won't have to think about what's going to happen."

"Whatever, dude. Just get in the car."

Sam said nothing and opened the door but as soon as they were both seated, he turned on Dean again.

"You do realize that whenever you say that, you're telling me I'm right, right?"

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"This. This 'whatever, dude, what are you talking about' routine. You always do that when I say something that you know is true but don't want to admit to because that might endanger the 'fearless hunter' game you play so well."

"Dude..."

"See? There you go again."

Dean bit back whatever the hell it was he was going to say and forced his eyes back on the road. He knew, more than ever before, that his 'kamikaze' attitude didn't work on Sam but that didn't mean he liked it whenever his little brother pointed it out. He didn't need Sam to buy it. He just needed him to accept it, to let Dean handle things his way. Talking about how he felt had never been his way of dealing. It wasn't something he'd ever been taught. Hadn't his mother died, things might have been different but his mother _had_ died and John Winchester hadn't exactly been forthcoming with lessons of the emotional kind. He'd learned pretty early on that letting emotions get the better of you got you nowhere and showing your weaknesses only made you vulnerable. Sam had, in a way that would never suffice, been shielded from the reality of Dean's life. He'd never had to hide what he felt because he'd had Dean around to share it with. Even though it hadn't been enough, would never be enough, there had always been a buffer between Sam and the world his father had forced him into and that buffer had been Dean. It was on days like these, days when Dean felt out of place even in his own skin, that he felt jealous of Sam and the illusion the younger man had been allowed to live in. Back in Pittsburgh, where that damn dreamtea had let his deepest fears, anger and resentment come to life in the form of his personal evil twin, he'd been forced to acknowledge the truth of his relationship with his father, his brother and, more than anything, his relationship with himself. And he hadn't come out of that battle the winner.

It had cost him all his energy to flip the proverbial switch and get back into the jacket, the car and the life his father had left him. Now, as he steered the car in the direction of the nearest diner, it was all he could do not to look at Sam and see his father. John had put him in the role of caretaker at the tender age of four and Sam was trying to push him out of it. He knew it wasn't fair, knew it was only in his mind that Sam's face melted into John's sometimes but that didn't change the fact that, any way he turned it, he felt pushed into a direction he hadn't chosen, into mall that didn't fit him.

* * *

The diner didn't differ from any of the other diners they'd ever had breakfast, lunch or dinner in. Dean ate his burger and Sam his salad in an unusual silence that had nothing to do with anger or annoyance but everything with Dean not feeling like being witty and flirty and so Sam had nothing to frown and/or smirk about. Not that they never had anything to talk about, but with every day that the older brother came closer to his death, the younger brother became more grim and with neither of them offering up a topic of conversation, the meals became quiet.

It didn't take them long to finish eating, a genuine yearning for food had long since deserted them both, and they made their way back to the car. There hadn't been many other people to try and get a story out of and when Dean had, halfheartedly, made a move on the waitress to try and get her to talk, he'd been disappointed to learn that the girl had only just moved in herself and knew nothing about any local legends. The older man at the bar, who had been nursing his upteenth beer by then, had only snorted and mumbled something about gullible tourists.He'd need to find somebody to back up the story, if only to shut up Sam, who was sure to be ready to start bitching any minute now. He grimaced at the thought and looked over at his brother, who was just about to open the cardoor.

"You up for a little recon, Sammy?"

"You want to go out into the forest now? Dean, we haven't even learned anything new. Not that there was anything there to begin with."

"Yeah, so that's why we should. We're not gonna run into anybody tonight. We'll just go and check out the site. We find anything, we'll know for ourselves. We don't, we go into town tomorrow and try again."

"Fine. I still think we're wasting time, here, but fine."

He fought back the urge to strangle the kid. Instead opted for sarcasm, trusty old friend.

"Thank you, Sammy, for your kind cooperation."

He watched as Sam swallowed and gritted his teeth. The fact that his little brother might be simply trying just as hard as _he_ was, not fully registering tonight.

"Let's just go, okay?"

They got out of the car and started walking, Dean taking the lead. He didn't look back to seem if Sam was following and he couldn't tell whether that was because he knew that Sam would always follow now or because he didn't care this time.

* * *

It was quiet. That was the first thing that came to Dean's mind as he made his way through the forest, Sam close behind. It was too quiet. There were no crickets chirping, no wind blowing, no bushes rustling. Nothing.

They'd found the edge of the forest, no trouble. Dean had taken a path straight into the forest without a word to Sam. He'd started walking without looking back, desperate to get away from the town, the people, the world. Desperate to get away from whatever it was he was running from. The size of the forest wasn't exactly impressive. In fact, it was quite disappointing to see the trees and bushes not stretch longer than the eye could see and it was that fact that had made Dean decide they might as well just go ahead and see what the fuss was about. Sam hadn't put up too much of a fight, which hadn't surprised his older brother because it seemed they had both, albeit silently, agreed that the legend was nothing more than that; just a local legend, sprung from the mind of bored teenagers. Now however, as they were getting deeper and deeper into the woods, the moss absorbing the fall of their footsteps, the silence closing in on them, Dean was starting to wonder if this had been such a good idea. He could detect nothing that could be interpreted as a haunting, nothing supernatural had so far come to meet them, but the sheer presence of the absolute nothingness made the older hunter uneasy.

"Dean?"

It was barely more than a whisper, Sam apparently just as uncomfortable with the silence as his brother. Or maybe he was uncomfortable with Dean.

"What?"

He said it out loud, pretending to not have noticed how suddenly the world seemed to have disappeared.

"Where the hell are we going?"

Sam spoke with a bit more volume this time, although it still sounded more like a whisper than anything else.

"I have no idea, dude. Guess we'll know when we get there?"

"Don't you think that maybe we should just come back tomorrow? In daylight, perhaps?"

"What is it, Sammy? You afraid of the dark all of a sudden?"

He didn't see, but heard the angry sigh. He could imagine the look on his kid brother's face all too well, having been on the receiving end of it more times than he could count.

"Dude. Knock it off. You know what I mean."

He couldn't go on like this, being difficult just because he felt like it. He wasn't a freaking teenager. And even as teenager he hadn't ever been difficult. Not when it came to his family. He felt the bitterness rising in the back of his throat, felt his head fill with the words his own Mr Hyde had thrown at him. No, he couldn't keep doing this, he couldn't keep feeling like this. But he couldn't quite give in yet, either.

"Yeah, maybe. But we're already here, aren't we? So we might as well just go ahead."

"No."

At that, Dean stopped and turned to look at his sibling ( his purpose, his life), and raised an eyebrow.

"No?"

Sam came to a full halt as well, positioning his feet firmly on the ground. Ready to take a stand, ready to fight his brother on this.

"No."

"Why the hell not, Sam? Don't tell me you're really afraid."

Why was he doing this? Why was he goading his brother like this? Was he looking for a fight, for another round of 'put the blame where it belongs'? None of this was Sam's fault. The issues he had were with his father and Sam was not John, no matter how much he might resemble him sometimes. He had to remember that. He had to hand it to the kid, Sam wasn't backing down.

"No, Dean. I'm not afraid, but I'm tired and annoyed and we don't go into hunts unprepared, whether we believe they're real or not."

And with that, he picked up the pace, placing himself just a few steps more away from his brother. Sam didn't say one more word but Dean could tell, just by the way the younger man was breathing, that he was annoyed and he was sure as hell gonna let Dean know about it when they got back to the hotel, Dean bit back a curse and moved to follow his little brother. Sometimes, he wished he could just stop being an older brother for a while. Sometimes he wished he could just be.

* * *

Well? What did you think? Would you like to see the second chapter?


	2. Chapter 2

_Can barely stand on my feet. _

_(Somebody to love – Queen)_

Chapter 2.

They'd gotten up ridiculously early that morning. Sam had still been rubbing the sleep from his eyes even as Dean almost pushed him into the car. They'd had breakfast in the same place they'd had dinner and, like the night before, the meal had passed in silence with Dean shifting in his seat with impatience while Sam tried not to notice as he suggested a bit more research. He'd given up when his big brother had been on that all too familiar verge of breaking into an extremely unpleasant mood, which usually lead to fights and discussion going in circles until one of them caved. When it came to the talks of the emotional kind, it had been Sam that had been on the winning end more and more lately, which is why he felt he had to give on this one. So here they were, making their way through the trees and bushes, the sun unable to break deep enough into the woods to shine it's light on them and help them find their way, the trees so close together they couldn't see past what was right in front of them. Sam hoped to God, although he'd given up on prayer, that there really was a hunt here, something to kill, because if not, they were wasting precious time here. Time they were never going to get back.

* * *

The house wasn't different from anything else they'd seen in their short, eventful lives. Yet is was as unique as anything they'd ever come across. It was deserted, no doubt about it. Not that it looked that way. There was nothing about the manor that looked like it wasn't in excellent shape. No window was broken. Not even a speck of paint missing on a windowsill or door. The roses that grew everywhere, through the entire garden that surrounded the building, were bloodred and impeccable. They spilled like a fountain over the small path that lead the way from the edge of the forest to low stairs leading up to the wooden doors. The house itself was white in the shade that made it not exactly white but not any other colour either. The roof was a deep shade of red and the lattice, curled and elegant, that guarded every window looked oiled and well taken care of. It looked absolutely perfect.

And it was deserted. Dean just knew it. Nobody lived here. Maybe it was _because_ it was so perfect. Like nobody could be living here because no person, flawed and scarred, would ever be allowed to enter.

That thought made him hesitate for just a second and he stopped walking, stood in the middle of the path, surrounded by roses and quiet, looking at the doors he was afraid to open, for fear it might reject him. He felt as if the house was looking at him, frowning at the broken soul that dared to come this close. He felt as if he was the only person left on earth and he was being watched by the Gods in his attempts to reign in the loneliness, the helplessness, each and everyone of those higher powers unwilling to help him because he'd been long since given up on. He felt empty.

* * *

Sam came up behind his brother and looked up at the house. Big, white, classic. It was nice. Beautiful in a way that most houses that belonged to rich people were. Not original, nor distinquished. No extravagancy or creativity. Nothing that made this house any nicer than so many other houses they had seen. Sure, it had probably cost quite a bit to have it built, but there was nothing really special about it. Nothing that made it anything else than a nice house. A house that had, at least at one point, belonged to people who wanted to fit in, not stand out.

It didn't look very dangerous, but he'd learned too early on that nothing was what it seemed and that it were often the most innocent looking things that offered the most danger. It were usually the liars that carried the sincere faces. The house was more like a manor; large, white and elegant and a quick overview told Sam that although the house had probably lost its inhabitants, it had been well looked after. No windows were broken, and the paint on the windowsills was, albeit faded, in pretty good condition. This house had lost not all traces of life yet. He felt the doubt that had possessed him from the moment Dean mentioned this hunt speak up again. He forced it to the back of his mind and reminded himself that this _could_ actually be a hunt. After all, the last time he'd told his brother that he didn't believe him, he'd ended up with his arm in a cast.

He glanced at Dean standing beside him and was about to ask him whether or not they were going in when he noticed the look on brother's face. It wasn't a look Dean had very often. His brother stood staring up at the house, almost immobile, his eyes expressing an emotion Sam couldn't decipher. He ducked his head a bit, trying not to alert the older man to his presence. Dean wasn't aware of his little brother studying him, Sam knew. If he was, he wouldn't be standing here like this. He would never let Sam see this. Would never let Sam see _him_ like this. Whatever this was.

For a very long time, too long, Sam had believed that he knew his brother through and through. As a child, he'd never seen anything but his big brother, there to serve and protect. As a teenager, he'd still seen his big brother, there to serve, protect and annoy and although he'd started to see the flaws his brother tried to hide, he'd still only seen his big brother. It had taken 4 years of college and then two years on the road to fully come to the understanding that his big brother was, in fact, a person. A man. A man Sam knew shamefully little about.

He knew that his brother liked to start his day with bacon and a truckload of coffee. That he liked women, all shapes and sizes. That he loved that damn car more than life itself. That dad has been his hero. That he knew every single Zeppelin song by heart and that he loved Sam more than anything on this planet. He knew the little things and he knew the things Dean chose to share. He suspected a lot, saw more than he let on and had learned more about his big brother in the past few years than Dean would ever know. But he still knew nothing.

He didn't know how his brother truly felt about their father, didn't know what it had been like for Dean while he'd been at school. He didn't know what the older brother remembered of their mother. Didn't know how he felt about the deal, had no idea what it had been like when he'd been...dead and although he really didn't want to find out what it felt like to lose his brother, part of him wanted to know what Dean had been like. Because he didn't know _that_ Dean. He didn't know the Dean that really gave up, didn't know a Dean that broke down, because even when Dean broke down, he did it privately. By himself, only revealing those parts to his little brother that he felt safe enough to do, and only when Sam really pushed him, when he felt guilty enough. Not because he wanted to. And it was because of that, that Sam was unsure of how to deal with moments like these. He was never gonna learn how Dean truly felt, he was never gonna witness a true breakdown, yet he wasn't fooled by Dean's atttitude anymore. Part of him wished that Dean would just open up, share his burdens, break down godddammit, because he wanted to _know_ his brother. Another part, and he didn't know which one was bigger, wanted to go back in time and become the boy that only saw his brother, the superhero. Not just because he was scared of what would happen to his brother if the moment ever came that he just couldn't shoulder anything more. Not just because he wanted his brother to have the strength to pull through this with his pride and delusional sense of self intact, but also because he didn't know how to do this. He didn't know how to handle a Dean that wasn't invincible.

Because that was a part of Dean that Sam didn't know. A part Sam had never been confronted with, had never been invited in to see and as much as his natural curiosity wanted to know, he also knew that if he would ask his brother about his thoughts right now, Dean would simply shrug his mask back on, make a lame remark and be even more careful about letting his guard down than he usually was.

He took a step forward and glanced back, willing his brother to follow his lead, the urge to protect the older man almost impossible to fight off. He had no idea as to what it was that made his big brother look like that but he did know that it was his job to take care of his brother every once in a while. Whether that brother wanted it or not.

"Dean?"

For a minute, Sam was sure his brother hadn't heard him, even in this impossible silence and he felt the little hairs on his arms stand up, but then Dean looked up, the shadow that had been in his eyes moments before only visible in the careful way Dean held himself. The older Winchester scraped his throat as he rolled around his shoulders, the leather around them following the movement with ease.

"Yeah, let's go."

Sam turned back towards the house and took another, even less confident step. He never would have thought the day would come where he hoped for a hunt, but he sincerely hoped that this would turn out to be a simple salt 'n burn. He dared a glance up at the impeccable white house, standing out amidst green gras, red roses and blue sky, then sideways to where his brother was now carefully making his way up to the door and knew it was probably too much to ask for.

They'd stopped at the first diner on the way and Sam ordered a cheeseburger. Not that he felt like having a cheeseburger, because he wasn't hungry at all and even when he was hungry, he didn't usually crave a cheeseburger, having had enough of those in his short years to last him a lifetime. But he ordered one none the less. He didn't know why he thought that ordering a burger would get him closer to Dean, would get his brother to talk, but he did. He also had had enough silent meals to last him a lifetime, even though he knew that those were far less in number than the cheeseburgers. He had ordered one for Dean as well, because the older man had stared at the menu until the waitress had gotten impatient, tapping her foot and giving Sam a pointed look.

Sam had hoped his brother would be the one to initiate conversation, even if it was a simple remark on the cute waitress, because he had no clue as to how he would start a conversation without immediately asking about Dean's feelings. They had spent a few hours checking the house, the gardens and the woods surrounding them. They had gone inside but hadn't made it past the first floor. The manor was huge and although there was no one living there, the house still had the feeling of life surrounding it, as if the owners would be walking in any minute, demanding to know what the hell these strangers were doing in their life. He'd voiced the thought to Dean, but the older had simply snorted, as if the mere idea of people still living there was ridiculous.

"Come on, Sam. Do you see anything that makes it look like there are people living here?"

In fact, Sam had. The furniture looked in pretty decent shape and the kitchen still held all the pots and pans. There were plates on the table and there were shoes in the hallway, coats on the coatrack. There were dead flowers in vases. It was a showroom of the high and mighty life.

Still, Sam had to admit he could see what Dean meant. Although the house held all the things and belongings that came with human life, it looked to perfect for anyone to be actually living there. the table was set but it didn't look like anyone would really eat there, the flowerfilled vases stood perched on tiny tables that no one would dare to touch and the pots and pans on the stove seemed to be there mostly to be looked at, not used. The whole house, or what they'd seen of it at least, seemed to actually _be_ a showroom. He guessed he'd been right when he said that the house looked like any other house that had been built or bought by people with money. Newly acquired money. It had been bought to insure a place in high society, not to be enjoyed for it's space or location. To be used, not to be loved.

He hadn't felt comfortable wandering around that house, like he'd never been comfortable going through someone else's belongings. Dean had never really voiced the same problem. He was there to save people, stop evil so they were just going to have to deal. But Dean had been even more uncomfortable roaming those halls. He hadn't touched anything, hadn't uttered a word. He'd just walked around, staring at the walls, at the ceiling, not paying attention to Sam's mumblings.

Their food arrived with extra fries, beer and a scowl from the waitress when Dean didn't acknowledge her presence. Sam looked at his brother, pushed his plate towards him, silently encouraging him to eat.

"Dean?"

How many times had he tried to capture his brother's attention like this? A softspoke question following his name.

"Dean? What is it?"

Dean drew his eyes back from the window he'd been staring out of, a fargone look in his eyes.

"What?"

"You need to eat, man. What's going on with you? You never pass up a good burger."

Dean looked down at his plate, only now registering the food in front of him, and shrugged.

"Guess I'm just not hungry, Sammy. Stranger things have happened."

"Not in my life, there haven't. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, dude. I'm fine. I'm just not hungry."

Sam could already see the discussion turning into an argument laying ahead.

He sighed, pushed his plate around and tried to think of a way to get his brother to spill. He knew Dean wasn't a talker and that, if he really wanted to know something, he was going to have push his brother into feeling guilty enough about that to get him to open up a bit, to meet him halfway. It was something he'd never stop hating, even if it made him love his brother so much more. Sam had always been a talker, but as the only one of their small family who felt better talking about his feelings, he'd gotten the idea that _he_ was the odd one out in the world.

And he had been. Until he'd gone to school and met Jess. Jess had been the first person in his life he'd been able to talk to without _trying._ Jess had talked. She'd asked about his feelings, had listened and reciprocated. She hadn't been one to parade around her feelings, only fully letting her guard down around those she loved, but she'd talked. She'd talked about what she felt, how she hurt and what she saw and it had made him realize that it was the healthy thing to do. The normal thing. Once he'd gotten back on the road with Dean, he'd had to adjust to living with someone who was not only not a talker, but who avoided any sort of conversation concerning emotions. It tired Sam to the bone, always having to cajole his brother into talking about feelings, using everything he had. He hated having to use Dean's concience, his selfdoubt, his love for his family, trying to get him to do something he didn't want but _needed_ to do. He was just so tired of it all sometimes.

* * *

Dean stared at the plate in front of him. He wasn't hungry. He knew he needed to eat, if not to fill his stomach, then to appease Sam, but he wasn't hungry. He couldn't keep his mind off that house. The feeling that had attacked him while roaming those halls, stuck close to him, unwilling to withdraw its claws.

He watched Sam cut a piece off his burger. Kid had never been able to just eat a burger the right way, always had to use knife and fork. Was probably the 'normal' thing to do. He took a breath and fought away the anger he felt. It wasn't fair to get angry at Sam over something so stupid just because it made him feel...

What was it that he felt? He couldn't find the right word for it. Which was just as well because it excused him from the table when the topic came up. And Dean had no doubt the topic would come up. Sam was a talker.

"Dean?"

There it was. He'd managed not to respond the first time around. Couldn't pull that off again.

"What is it, Sam? What? I told you, I'm not hungry."

He might not get out of this but he sure as hell wasn't gonna make it easy. Not this time.

"Dude, you're always hungry. Is it that house? What did you see?"

"Nothing. I saw nothing."

It was the truth. he'd seen nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that got his attention. It wasn't what he'd seen, it was what he'd felt. What he still felt.

* * *

He was surrounded. Surrouned by a silence that felt like a person. It had a sense of being, such a strong presence that it was as if he was being followed by the hidden eyes of emptiness wherever he went. He roamed the rooms of the building, empty and desolated, and with each space he entered he felt as if the person this had belonged to had left a piece of their soul behind. As if the utter silence, the complete nothingness was here to keep an eye on what had been left behind.

He was used to the presence of spirits, could feel the energy of the unseen everywhere but he had never experienced something like this. He had the overwhelming urge to whirl around, to try and find this invisible person that followed in his every step, like a shadow. It was as if he was an intruder in a most sacred place, where the secrets of the universe were hidden. A small patch of light fought its way throught the overgrown trees and illuminated a small part of the carpet and windowsill, accentuating the dust and secrets that had accumulated through the years.

He sat down in the windowsill, felt the sun warm his face and he thought for a moment that time had stopped, just to watch him. It was one of those moments where the stillness and the simple act of being caught up with you and all you could do was be just as still, part of and yet standing out in the moment.

It was a source of feeling. Of existence. A place of passion, heated and icy. It made his skin crawl, his blood curdle. It made him want to curl up in this ray of sunlight to stay for eternity and it made him want to run, as fast and as loud as he could, in the direction of the real world. The world where people moved and breathed. A world that was alive. He didn't want to know this place. this place that felt like longing. This place that felt like home. It was as if the person that had lived here, had breathed this exact same air. It knew every fibre of his being. Knew his most inner longings. Had seen the parts even _he_ had not yet dare to discover.

It was this house that made him feel a stranger in the world, more than anything else ever had.

* * *

Sam was getting scared. No point in denying it. This was the second day they were spending in and around this house and Dean had been upstairs for hours, leaving Sam to scoure the garden, the rooms, the forest. He'd searched everywhere and everything, trying his damnest to give his older brother some time, a bit of breathingroom but enough was enough. The days were getting harder and harder for both of them, the lack of sleep, exhausting hunts and plain weirdness of their lives demanding an even heavier toll now that they had to deal with Dean's deadline on top of the war they'd unleashed. Sam woke up every day with no clue as to where he was or who he was supposed to be, his head only filled with one single thought: another day gone.

The surge of relief he had felt at Dean's admission that he didn't want to die, had been replaced by an even stronger determination to save his brother, to find a way out of that deal but the year was running out, payday was approaching and he was no closer now than he had been months ago. Sam had to admit that, even though he knew his brother couldn't lift a finger to help himself out of the deal, he'd thought, _hoped_, that Dean would maybe be willing to contribute to his search in some way. But he hadn't, he had only become more distant, more grim, more _gone_.

And this hunt, this damn house, wasn't helping matters. Sam had no clue as to what it was about this damn building that pulled at Dean but he did know, if he knew nothing else, that he hated it. Ever since they'd gotten into town, and into that forest, he'd seen his brother deteriorate slowly. It was as if every time they left the house to go back to the hotel, Dean was leaving a piece of himself behind. There was something here that tugged at his brother, casting a spell over him, drawing him in and there was nothing Sam could do to stop it because, and he could say this with as much certainty as there could possibly be when you lived your life within the realms of the impossible, there. Was. Nothing. Here. No spirits, no spells, no haunting. No zombies, vampires, witches, poltergeists, voodoo, hoodoo. Nothing. The only thing that was here was what was in Dean's head. And that was the only place Sam had never been able to go, the only puzzle he'd never been able to completely solve.

* * *

If somebody would have told Dean that one day he'd be actually terrified of an empty house, he would have snorted and, depending on the amount of alcohol, punched the sucker in the face. Today, he was shameful to admit even to himself his hesitance to even drive in the general direction of that house. The empty rooms, one after another, so full of nothing but stillness unnerved him more than any supernatural creature had ever done.

And yet, he couldn't leave. Found himself almost psychically unable to get in his car and leave the town behind, to drive away from that place that made his stomach bunch up and his muscles itch in a place he couldn't reach. It was as if some unimaginable force was pulling at him, dragging him back to this place.

So here he was again, roaming the halls, his hands aching to touch the walls but he kept them firmly in his pocket, unwilling to grant whatever it was that lead him here the satisfaction. He took the stairs and almost stopped in the middle of it when he, again, felt that pull that drew him upstairs, past the room he'd been in yesterday, further, into a large room at the end of the hall. He stopped in the doorway, unsure whether to proceed.

He wanted to go in there, the desire to disappear amidst the walls of this house almost unbearable, but at the same time unwilling to let himself be ruled by something he couldn't even name. He considered calling Sam up here but dismissed the thought before it was even fully formed. He didn't want to drag his brother in here, just because he was intimidated by a freaking house. Sam didn't understand the effect this house had on him anyway and it wasn't like Dean could blame him. He felt a pull towards a house of which he didn't know anything but the year in which it had been built.

He crossed the threshold and stepped into the room. It didn't look any different than any of the other rooms in the sense that the walls were the same colour, the wooden floor was exactly the same and the windows were, like every other, framed with those iron bars, curling and dancing around the wall. A well decorated prison.

The room that he was about to enter actually did look like someone had _lived_ here. Sort of. There was a chair in the corner of the room, a grand foulard and a pale blue dress covering a large part of the maroon velvet. Shelves, bookcases and open boxes that seemed to contain nothing but books, diaries and notebooks lined two of the four walls. There were paintings and pictures, obviously made by the person that had, at one point in history, occupied this room and a painter's easel. with what looked like a finished painting stood in the middle of the room. The floors were covered in more papers, pictures, drawings and paintings.

Dean came to a halt in the centre of the room, facing the painter's easel and could do nothing but stare. The painting was an exact copy of the forests surrounding the house, every single rose in the garden seemed to have made their way onto the canvas where, in the middle of it, a perfect imitation of the house stood tall. To the casual observant, it was exactly the same. But Dean was not a casual observer and as he stepped closer, peered into the painting, he saw that, although it was perfect, in this version the house looked anything but calm and peaceful. The trees and roses around it were not just a nice landscape. The windows of the manor reflected shadows and spirits, almost forming the eyes of the person that had made this and the trees stooped, the branches appearing as arms, reaching out and trying to grab whoever it was that walked among them. The roses that spilled over the path leading towards it mirrored not flowers but blood, crawling its way throughout the picture and, small and almost invisible, was a woman, running in between the trees, fleeing the house, dodging the tree's arms, her hands outstretched and her head turned back towards the house, as if to make sure it wouldn't follow, her lips parted in a scream of agony.

* * *

Sam stood at the bottom of the stairs, contemplating making his way up. He knew they needed to get back to town, if not for anything else, then for the simple task of scrounging up some dinner. He wasn't feeling especially hungry, but he was hopeful he could lure his never ceasing to be hungry big brother away from this place with the promise of a good steak. It had worked so far. Something was keeping him from walking up those stairs however, and it wasn't just the idea of going up there and entering the world Dean was currently inhabitating. He wasn't part of whatever it was that had cast this spell on his brother and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to understand it. There was nothing here that indicated the presence of the supernatural and he had the paralyzing fear that whatever held his brother here, was something that existed solely in Dean's mind.

Sam knew that when his brother had made that deal, he had done it with nothing other than Sam in his mind and once Sam had been back amongst the living, he had pushed the deal and its inevitable consequences out of his mind, telling himself he'd done it for Sam and would do it again. But then something had changed and Dean had come back from his visit to dreamland with a clear statement: he didn't want to die. He had finally admitted to his fear, to his unwillingness to leave this world. To leave Sam. But even Sam knew that that didn't really change anything and it had brought him nothing more than an overwhelming feeling of relief.

Dean may now have decided that he wanted out if his deal, and Sam may have promised his brother he'd get him there, the days were still passing and the day of saying goodbye was nearing.

* * *

LvB. The painting was signed with LvB, down at the bottom, hidden between the roses. The roses that looked like they had thorns that would prick you and leave you scarred forever.

Dean didn't know how long exactly he'd been staring at that painting, staring at the initials that signed it. He only knew that he heard footsteps on the staircase and knew he'd been gone long enough to worry Sam. He moved forward, his only goal to get away from that damn image of a soundless scream exactly like the one he'd been feeling in the back of his throat for months now and felt paper crush under his feet. He kneeled to look at what it was that had been left here to gather dust, unsure if he even wanted to know and grabbed the notebook he'd stepped on.

It was open, the pages that had been left to fade with the years yellow and parched. It held only one word. 'freedom'. He turned the page. The same. He turned another page, and another, and another. The same word had been written over and over on every page, and the closer he got to the end of the notebook, the fatter the word. It had been scratched into the page with palpable desperation. The last pages of the book were almost ripped with the force this person had used to get the word onto the paper, outlined and bold.

He stared at it and felt his stomach turn, the bile rising up in his throat. He needed to leave this room, this house, this town. He knew that, felt it with every fibre of his being but he also knew he wouldn't. He couldn't. Not until he found out who had done this, who had been here. He clutched at the notebook, still opened on the final page, where the word 'freedom' was fat and black, and underscored several times. He got back on shaky feet and walked over the chair in the corner of the room. He only now really saw the dress. He wasn't surprised.

The person in the painting had been a woman and the handwriting was scratchy but elegant. It was just strange to now have more than an invisible presence of the person this belonged to. The dress, the portraits in the paintings (of which he was positive it was her, the artist), the single ruby earring he saw on the floor near the chair. It made it more than his imagination. It made it real.

He forced his attention away from the painting and the notebook and started a tour past the walls, seeing that every single drawing and painting in this room held the house as it's centre. The trees, the roses, the shadows. They were there in all of them, as was the woman. Sometimes she could be seen in one of the windows, looking out with longing on her face, in others her face or the contours of her body were painted among the trees or between the flowers.

It was as if the person who had lived here had painted their feelings and hung it up the wall, for lack of words to express them in another way and the main feeling was one of utter loneliness. The woman who had done this had been scared, angry, weak, lonely, desperate. He found it both uneasy and a comfort to stand in this room, surrounded by somebody else's feelings that seemed to mirror his own. He knew that these paintings could never have been his, didn't feel as if they were his, even if he had been any good at painting, but it was as if this artist had looked inside herself and found darkness. A darkness that made her stand apart from the world.

And Dean, as he stood there transfixed at those images, thought that he knew exactly how this woman had felt.

* * *

Sam took the stairs slowly, one at a time, stalling the moment in which he'd be face to face with his brother. He knew he'd get Dean out of here and back to the hotel and that, once they were back in the relatively safe haven that had always been one motelroom or another, that his big brother would be getting back to himself bit by bit. But, like the past few mornings, a new day would dawn and despair would grow and Dean would want to go back to this house and then Sam would lose him again, to a force not visible to the human eye.

He reached the landing and stared down the hallway, noticing the open door at the end of it. He walked over, thinking of what to say to his brother to get him out of that room and that damn reverie he'd been stuck in ever since they'd first set foot in this place. He paused in the doorway and let his eyes wander, taking in the room. he didn't see anything that shocked or alarmed him. the wall held several bookcases and a lot of drawings, there was a chair in the corner and in the middle of the room was a painter's easel with a painting on it. He probably wouldn't have taken a second look at that painting if his brother hadn't been standing in front of it, staring at it as if it held the answers to all the questions of life.

"Dean?"

No answer. Sam slowly stepped into the room, drawing closer to where his brother was. Glanced at the painting. It was a portrait of the house. The trees, the flowers. It was darker though, sombre and desolate of hope. He noticed, in the corner, a girl running through the trees. He searched for a signature, spotted one between the roses. LvB. Probably one of the people who'd lived here then.

"Dean?"

He stopped right next to the still form of the older man and ducked his face, trying to peer into Dean's.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy. I hear you."

With those words, Dean looked up and his eyes locked on brown ones. It almost made Sam retreat back into the doorpost, a safe distance away from the depths of his brother's eyes. The green that, to Sam, had always represented safety, comfort, love and the feel of home, were now so intensely and deeply sad it made Sam hurt to see. Dean had always been so good at hiding what he felt that, often, he even managed to keep people from seeing it in his eyes, so whenever he did let someone see beyond the veil, his soul shone through, fragmented and ragged. Rough around the edges.

"Dean, let's go. we need to get back to town. Find something to eat."

"Yeah." Dean looked down again and when he drew his eyes back up, the wall, although wobbly and about to fall, stood erect. A weak grin tried to fight its way onto Dean's lips but quickly gave up.

"Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

If I could have one wish, I'd wish that you would leave me a word.


	3. Chapter 3

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* * *

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Still in Silence.

**Author's note;** to those kind enough to review: I will respond to you. I will. Just thought I'd get this out there first. Please know I treasure every word!!

* * *

_Everyday - I try and I try and I try._

_(Somebody to love - Queen)_

**Ch 3.**

They had made their way back to the car, when Sam saw the man standing next to it. He fought the urge to grab his brother's arm and straightened. He walked the few remaining steps and was about to ask what the guy wanted, when the man stepped forward, one of the lonely lampposts illuminating his tall, bony frame, weary face, graying hair.

"Mr Mulray?" He took a step towards the brothers. Sam didn't say anything, nor did Dean. Both reluctant to identify themselves to someone they didn't know. The man didn't seem to take offence however, as he extended a hand to the younger men.

"I came by your name through Ellie, down at the hotel. I am Dr. Howard, I am the local doctor. I noticed you going up to the old Von Burg Manor."

Sam stopped to think back on the painting that had, for one reason or another, mesmerized his brother. LvB. Von Burg. Promising himself he'd research it later, he put his attention to the present, where Dean had taken the doctors hand.

"Dr. Howard. My name is David Mulray, this is my brother Simon. We're reporters for World Weekly News. We've been checking out the site, heard there might be a story here."

If the older man was surprised to hear this, he didn't let it show.

"A story on the Von Burg house?" He seemed to mull something over in his mind, then shrugged. "Yes, I guess that was bound to happen eventually, with all the stories going around."

"You don't believe them then? These stories about a spirit haunting the house, the forests?"

"Oh, it's not a question of me believing them, Mr Mulray. It's that I know that they're untrue."

"Really? You're familiar with the house, the owners?"

"The owners?" Dr. Howard raised an eyebrow. "Have you not been doing your homework, Mr Mulray? This house has an owner, but she has not been seen in this town ever since her tenth birthday."

"Her tenth birthday? Why is that? What happened?"

"Nothing happened, Mr Mulray, although I imagine this must be a disappointment to you reporters, but the girl who owns this house, moved away when she turned ten and has not returned to it since. There is no one who cares for this house anymore."

"Why is that?"

"I think that is a question for another day, Mr Mulray, even though I have my doubts as to whether you'll find the answer even a speck interesting. Until then, and until I have decided as to whether or not I am willing to tell you about my history with the manor and its owners, I bid you goodnight."

And with that, the man nodded at them, turned and left.

* * *

The drive back to the room passed without much conversation, both too occupied with Dr Howard and his seemingly innoccent, but certainly interesting connection to what was apparently called the Von Burg Manor. They had stopped to pick up a pizza on the way, and they were pulling onto the hotelparkinglot when Sam spoke, a little afraid to voice his question, but knowing they had to discuss a plan of action.

"Dean?"

"What, Sammy?"

Sam had planned to ask his brother about how they were gonna get Dr Howard to share his side of the story, because he clearly thought he had one, but his lips formed different words.

"What is it about that house?"

Dean stiffened at the question, tempted to ask what his kid brother was talking about, but he knew there was no point in playing dumb.

"I don't know."

There was not much left to say after that. Sam knew he could suggest they just take off, get the hell out of dodge, but he also knew Dean would reject the notion. He'd want to stay, get back to that house, stare at that goddamn painting.

"Dean."

"Yeah?" It wasn't even a question, more of a weary, resignated sigh,

"I know you're gonna go back to that damn house, I know we gotta talk to Dr Howard, but...we can't stay here, man. There is no hunt here. Just..."

"Just that house. I know, Sammy. We'll take off soon. Promise."

After that, there was nothing left to say, because one thing had remained the same among all the things that hadn't: Dean kept his promises. Even if it killed him.

* * *

It turned out it wasn't that hard to get Dr Howard to talk. Before Sam even had a chance to boot up his laptop to see if Google was familiar with a certain LvB, the older man had found them and called their hotelroom to invite them up for coffee down at his practice at the edge of town. They hadn't much talked about any of it, they had simply accepted the doctor's offer and gotten in the car. They were sitting in highly uncomfortable chairs now, waiting for the good doctor to finish up with his last patient and get the coffee ready. The graying man sat down a cup of black coffee for each of them and took a seat in the chair behind his desk.

"So why are you interested in the Von Burg manor, Mr Mulray?" It was unclear to which of the brothers he spoke, although his eyes were fixed on Dean. Sam wasn't sure if this was because he somehow knew the effect the house had on his brother, or simply due to the fact that Dean had been the one to introduce them and actually talk to the man.

"Well, like we told you, we are reporters and we heard that there..."

"That there might be a story here? Right, yes, you did tell me that."

The brothers looked at each other, both clearly unsure about what the hell this man was aiming for.

"Uh, yeah."

There was a silence. All three men seemed to be waiting for on of the others to speak. Eventually, Sam took the lead.

"So, Dr Howard, you said you have a personal history with this house?"

Dr Howard looked up from his coffee, a curious look on his face. As if, for a second, he couldn't remember who these men were and what they wanted.

"My personal history. Yes, of course. I will tell you about it, not in the last place because I feel I want to share it but I must warn you; there is no action in this story. There is no spirit that haunts the house but for the one who left it years ago."

Sam glanced at Dean at the man's words and saw his brother raise an eyebrow. He knew that his brother had already had enough of this conversation, the older Winchester never having had much patience for stories like this.

"That left it years ago, you say? So there was one?"

"Oh, there was one. There was one indeed. Her name was Loretta."

Sam saw another lengthy silence ahead and immediately took action.

"Loretta? Her name didn't come up in any of the research I did. Who was she?"

He didn't mention that he hadn't actually done all that much research. His conviction that this hunt took place mostly inside Dean's mind had him abandon the search for Rozenbourgh and it's people as soon as they had hit town. He had, instead, been focused on the other job at hand: saving his brother.

"She was the daughter of the landowner, Jos von Burg. She was his only child. His wife, Ametta, had fallen ill quickly after Loretta's birth. She lived for years but they never had another child. Loretta was their all."

"But what happened to her, Mr Howard? Like I said, I could find nothing about a death at the house. It just seems to have been left at some point in time."

"Because that is exactly what happened, Mr Mulray. After Loretta's death, Mr and Mrs Von Burg lived in the house till the day they died and no one has lived in it since."

"Mr Howard, how did Loretta die?"

"She drowned."

"She...what? Where?"

"In the ocean, Mr Mulray. Where she often went swimming. She loved the ocean, said it gave her freedom. A freedom she lacked in that house, where she lived her whole life."

"But...then..she didn't die in the house? Her death...it was an accident?"

"Indeed it was, Mr Mulray. Loretta went swimming and the water pulled her away, it was too strong for her. Her body was never recovered."

Both brothers went silent. If Loretta hadn't died at the house, had simply drowned, then that explained why Sam hadn't been able to pick up on anything supernatural but it didn't explain what the hell was the deal with that house and what they were doing here.

"So...so if Loretta drowned and nothing else happened, why is the house abandoned?"

"Oh, the house now belongs to Loretta's daughter, Jozina, named after her grandfather, and she has simply never claimed it. Never moved back here, never sold it. I must admit I'm glad. It would have pained me to see another in that house but Loretta. It is her house, resent it as she may have done."

"Her daughter? Loretta had a daughter?"

"Yes, Mr Mulray. Jozina. Like I told you; she never came back."

"But she did live there? Then what happened to her?"

"Nothing, as far as I can tell you. She moved away from it after her mother's premature death. She was ten years old then. Her father's parents came to take her away to the city. I never learned what became of her. I assume she is still alive, for she can't be older than 37 now."

"37? She was born in 1971? Then when did Loretta die?"

"In 1981, Mr Mulray. I said just now that Jozina was ten years old when her mother died and her grandparents came to take her."

"How old was Loretta then?"

"Loretta had Jozina at the age of 19. She was 29 when she died."

The doctor's eyes glazed over a bit. A far gone look shone in them.

"I always told her to be careful out in that water. I warned her that there as few things in this world as unpredictable as water. She said it was that exactly what she loved about it. I guess she was like the ocean sometimes. Strong but fragile. Uncatchable."

Sam was reluctant to push this man but he did not want to sit here and be a witness to his reminiscing.

"Right. So Loretta drowned and her daughter went to live with her other grandparents. She inheritated the house from Loretta's parents then. She never showed up?"

"Not once, I think. Her grandfather died of a stroke in 1986, Mrs Von Burg not long after, with nobody to care for her. That's when the house and all of its belongings were passed on to Jozina. I would have thought she'd come back, but I never saw her."

"Maybe you missed her, weren't here?"

"Mr. Mulray, I have never left this town but to go to school when I was 18, Loretta was alive then. I had only just returned when she passed."

"Dr Howard, if you don't mind me asking, did you and Loretta..."

He racked his brain, trying to find the right words to ask such a personal question. The good doctor saved him from doing so.

"No need to find an appropriate word, Mr Mulray. I can tell you that we were friends. I admit I may have hoped for more, but...as whimsical as Loretta's personality was, it never came to be. She fell in love with a sailor of some sort at 19, he is Jozina's father. I was at college then. When I came back, she was a mother and every chance of the future I had hoped for with her were gone, but we remained friends."

Sam didn't want to know anymore. Didn't need to and this story was one too personal. For some reason, he didn't want to learn much more about this Loretta and he didn't want Dean to. He got up out of his chair, extending his hand towards the doctor.

"Alright. Well...thank you, Dr Howard. I think that's all we need to know for now."

Dr Howard got up as well, accepting the hand.

"It was my obligation, I think. That house, mr Mulray, represents much of my youth and memories today. I feel I can't leave this world without telling someone its story."

Sam didn't have the nerve to say that the good doctor had more than anything told his own story, the heartbreak over the loss of Loretta clear in every word the man had spoken. Sam was grateful for the man's time though. He knew now that this town held nothing they needed to deal with. No supernatural evil to fight. He walked to the door, hearing his brother's footsteps fall right behind him.

When they got outside, made their way to the car, Sam turned to Dean, ready to tell him to get going, but his brother beat him to it.

"I think we ought to see if we can find that Jozina."

"Why?"

"Because I just feel I should, Sam." Dean opened the door to his side of the car. "I know that there is no hunt here, you were right, but I can't just leave this behind. Somebody should clean all this up, empty that house. It feels wrong, leaving like this. And I trust my gut. Asm should you, by the way."

Sam didn't respond until they were both seated, the rumbling of the engine soothing his nerves.

"But what are we gonna get out of that?"

"I don't know, Sam. What is the big deal? It's just a phonecall."

Sam bit on his lip, stared out the window, saw heavy clouds packing the together, ready to let the rain fall.

"Fine. But Dean, we gotta leave, man. We really do. There is nothing here. And..."

"And what?"

"And I don't like what this house is doing to you. It's like...everytime you step through that door, I..."

"What?"

He couldn't keep doing this. He couldn't keep fighting for his brother. Not alone.

"I lose you."

Dean let a moment pass, unsure of how to respond and almost unwilling to. He hated the feeling that crawled upon him but he was so extremely tired. He felt it in his bones. How could he fight for himself when he didn't even know who the fuck he was?

"Sam..."

The younger hunter turned his head away from the window but didn't look at the driver's seat, instead stared through the windshield, where the rain was about to hit.

"No, don't say that it's not true because you know it is. When you get in those rooms, you leave, man. You go somewhere no one can follow." He hesitated, then went ahead and added: "Somewhere I can't follow."

Dean flipped his head around to look at his little brother, his gone from the road before them. He studied the tense way Sam held himself, the lines around his eyes and the tight set of his mouth. He knew the kid hadn't been getting a lot of sleep and that he was barely holding himself together, scared to death of what was to come. Dean wondered whether it was because Sam was better at hiding his feelings these days, or that he himself had just gotten too preoccupied with his own issues to notice. He also knew that, issues or not, scared or not, he couldn't let his little brother, the one he'd vowed to protect forever, the one he was probably gonna end up abandoning in a few months, shoulder the burden alone. He hit the brakes and came to a swerving halt by the side of the road. Never would he leave Sam thinking that he wasn't always, always, the first thing on his mind, the most important thing in his life. Never.

"Sam."

He saw Sam flinch, knew the younger man was preparing himself for the usual denial from his brother, belittling his feelings when it came to his big brother.

"Sam, look at me."

Brown eyes carefully locked on green ones and Dean could see the fear there, the desperation, the unadulterated fear of losing his brother, either to hell or something else.

"Sam. You're not losing me. Not yet. And not if we can do anything about it. I'm your brother Sam. You're my little brother. There is nothing more important in this world for me, okay?"

Relief flooded the brown eyes, while determination shone in the green.

"You're not losing me."

Sam nodded, then spoke in a voice Dean could swear he hadn't heard since they were kids.

"Promise?"

The older of the two brothers smiled, a lifetime of bedtime stories and scary monsters that had, then at least, only existed in Sam's dreams, flashing in front of his eyes. He'd promised then, everytime Sam had a nightmare, everytime he'd been hurt, that he was never gonna leave him. He'd never broken that promise. Wasn't about to now.

"I promise, Sammy."

* * *

Thanks for your time. It's been a pleasure writing it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Still in Silence. **

**Author's note**: Guess this is it then. Feels weird, doesn't it, as an author? A bit empty. I hope you'll enjoy. Is it april 24th yet?

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_Got no feel, I got no rhythm_

_Just keep losing my beat. _

_I'm okay, I'm alright_

_Ain't gonna face no defeat. _

_(Somebody to love - Queen)_

**Chapter 4.**

It turned out that tracking down Jozina von Burg wasn't quite as hard as it had seemed. Sam had given in on trying to get in touch with her, even though he couldn't quite see the point and he had gone to town hall and then researched the Von Burg family on the internet and in town with Dean. Had Jos von Burg not been a businessman and had he not, at one point, owned half the town, it might have been a lot harder to search for a woman who had left the town as a girl and hadn't returned since. As it were, however, the townspeople were happy to give any information concerning the rather well endowed family and now that they were after a family and townhistory, instead of a ghoststory, the information came much easier. The waitress back at the diner still hadn't been able to tell them much but she had been eager enough to call out her boss, whose family had bought the place from Jos von Burg right before he died. Not many people knew much about Loretta, but it still seemed that, once tongues got wagging, people were ready to tell all they knew about the woman who had, at one point, mysteriously disappeared. It also became clear where the so-called legend came from, because if it hadn't been for Dr Howard, they still would not have been any wiser as to how Loretta von Burg had actually died. Many stories regarding the disappearance of the young women, who had left behind a child and deeply grieving parents, reached their ears. All of them born from the fantasy of bored townfolks.

It was barely a day after their talk with Dr Howard and the brothers had come by a phonenumber that possibly belong to one Jozina von Burg. They called the number from their hotelroom, sitting across from each other, Sam dialing the number. He had agreed to calling Jozina, on the condition that he be the one who made the call. Dean hadn't protested. Ever since their conversation in the car two days ago, Dean had been surprisingly cooperative, as if he felt he had to make up for what he had, unpurposefully, done. Sam had said nothing. Not that he felt his brother really had to make up for anything, but because he was scared that if he commented on it, Dean would retreat back into that shell of his. Also, in all honesty, he had been thinking of a way to get his older brother to agree with him making the call. He had subjected to staying here until they had found and talked to the Von Burg heir but he was not, in a million years, let Dean dig deeper into this than was absolutely necessary. This house, haunted or not, had had too big an impact on the older Winchester and they would not go back into that house if he could help it. And he was not gonna let Dean talk to this lady without being there to hear what was being said.

He dialed the number and listened to the tone that never ceased to annoy those who were waiting to speak to someone. After hearing the dialtone going from nine to ten, the phone was picked up. A woman's voice, clear and strong, sounded on the other end. He pushed a button on the phone to turn on the loud speaker.

"Mrs Jameson speaking."

He hesitated. Of course, Sam knew that Jozina had probably married and taken someone else's name but upon hearing a name he'd never heard, at least not in this case, he was suddenly unsure of how to procede. What exactly was he gonna say to this woman, even if she was Jozina?

"Hello?"

"Uhm..yes, Mrs Jameson?" he looked at his brother before he continued. He didn't want to lie to this woman, whose whole life they had heard about from everyone else but her.

"My name is Sam Winchester. I am looking for Jozina von Burg."

There was a silence on the other end. One he'd gladly fill but he didn't know what else to say. He could hardly ask this woman whether or not she knew of a Jozina, because if she was Jozina, that was just going to come across absurd, but he couldn't ask her if she _was_ Jozina von Burg, because that probably would freak her out even more. Jozina had never returned to the house she had been born in and there was a pretty good chance she had buried her past, including the name that went along with her history, and her mother.

"Mrs Jameson?"

"Why are you looking for Jozina von Burg?"

"Well, you see, my brother and I..." He paused again. He didn't think it would be a good idea to tell her that he was a reporter.

"My brother and I are in Rozenbourgh right now and we stumbled upon this house...somebody told us it belonged to the Von Burg family."

"And what do you want with this house, Mr Winchester? It is not for sale."

So he _was_ speaking to Jozina. He was sorry that she had immediately told him the house was not for sale. He had thought about using that as a front. Didn't matter now. She already knew his name. He might as well tell her the whole truth. Suddenly, he wished Dean wasn't sitting right across from him. He took a deep breath.

"Truthfully, Mrs Von Burg..."

"My name is Mrs Jameson now, Mr Winchester. You may have found me through that name, which is only because I am forced to use it still due to the business my grandfather had and left to me but I no longer feel connected to it by any means."

"I''m sorry. Mrs Jameson. I..I don't know exactly what I want with the house. The thing is that we stumbled upon it because somebody told us that it was haunted and...well...that is what me and my brother do, we...we research it. Write about it. It's kind of a family business and..."

"My time is limited, Mr Winchester and you have said nothing I want to hear."

"Mrs Jameson, the truth is that that stupid house had done nothing for me, but my brother..." He glanced briefly at Dean, whose eyes narrowed, before he rambled on.

"Well..we went inside and my brother...he found the drawings your mother made..."

"What would you know about my mother, Mr Winchester? And why would you think she made those drawings you are talking about?"

"Because they were signed with LvB, Mrs Jameson. Loretta von Burg. Dr Howard, you may know him, told us about your mother's death. I am sorry for your loss, even though it might be a little late to say that."

"Well, Mr Winchester, you certainly did your homework. Yes, Loretta von Burg was my mother. But whatever it is that Dr Howard, and I do remember he was quite fond of my mother for some reason, told you, I can tell you it isn't true."

Sam looked at Dean, who stared back at him, eyebrows raised. Whatever it was that was going on here, there were too many stories going on now and neither of them seemed to hit the truth.

"Then, if you don't mind me asking, what _is_ the truth?"

"I can't say that I don't mind you asking, Mr Winchester. I do not know what you want with this story, nor do I want any part in it but I do not want to hang up on you now, leaving you with the impression that there is a mystery here waiting to be unraveled. So, I will tell you that whatever stories you may have heard, they are likely to be as far from true as possible."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really. You see, Mr Winchester, all these stories that you speak about, this tale Dr Howard spun you...I am confident they all speak of my mother's unfortunate death."

"Yes. Although many stories don't even say she dies, she just disappeared. Dr Howard, who told us he was a friend of your mother, said she drowned."

"Yes, that's what I thought. Well, Mr Winchester, let me be the one to give you the story that is sure to disappoint. My mother never drowned."

"She,she didn't?"

"Not at all."

"Then...then how did she die?"

"I see you don't quite get what I trying to tell you. You see, when I say my mother didn't drown, I mean that she didn't die."

To say that the brothers were shocked would be an understatement. Sam was at a loss for words and, by the looks of it, so was Dean. If Loretta hadn't died, at all, then where the hell did she go? And how did Jozina know this, when no one else did. After all, the woman had been taken away by her grandparents at the age of ten, supposedly because her mother had died.

"Your silence is one of surprise, I gather." The woman, Jozina, on the other end of the phoneline said.

"That would be an understatement." It was the first time Dean took part of the conversation.

"If she didn't die, then what the hell happened?"

If Jozina was offended by Dean's blunt words, she didn't show it. In fact, she didn't seem to show any emotion at all, speaking about her mother.

"She faked her death, Mr Winchester. I assume you are the brother?"

"Yeah. Name's Dean. Nice to make your acquintance. What happened?"

Dean couldn't help himself. Ever since Dr Howard had told them of Loretta's death, a strange feeling had taken hold of him. A feeling he hadn't had the chance to reflect on yet. Not when he was trying to be the brother Sam needed. It was a feeling of ...peace. Of being content. He'd seen Loretta's paintings, had stared at them as the emotions of the woman who had painted them, had felt them, had taken control of him. He'd felt what she had when she painted them, had given them life in a painting, because she could not let them take flight any other way. He'd ached for her, this girl that had felt trapped in an existence she could not escape from. Then, when he learned that she'd died, he'd felt...comforted. Not because she'd died, but because, maybe, just maybe, that had been her freedom. Now, as he learned the truth, he was thrown back into those feelings. Seeing, again, the woman on the run, her mouth spared wide open in a howl of pain and fear, chased by nothing but her own life. A life that made her see monsters everywhere she looked.

Jozina was apparently collecting her own circling thoughts, for it took a breath or two before she spoke again, her voice carrying an icy edge this time. An edge that told the brothers that she was not enjoying this conversation and was ready to end it.

"What happened, Mr Winchester, is this: my mother was a weak woman. A woman incapable to take responsibility for her life. So, when she was 29 and I was 10, she went out to the ocean, supposedly to take her daily swim and then faked her own death. Her belongings, such as her clothing, were found near the water but her body was never recovered. Everyone assumed it had gone too deep, or too far. There was a funeral and my grandparents came to take me to the city shortly after."

"Then how do you know she didn't die? Did she contact you?"

"Why would she contact a part of her life she had so desperately wanted to escape from, Mr Winchester? No, she never did any such thing. Nor have I tried to contact her. I don't want to be part of someone's life that does not want me there, nor do I want her to be a part of mine if it isn't by choice. In my younger years, I might have said differently. Today, however, I can say we _both_ made our choice, albeit unbeknownst to her."

"But, then...then how do you know?"

"Her paintings, Mr Winchester. The ones you spoke of? They were exhibited in several musea. Not only in the United States. I myself have seen them in Paris."

"How do you know for sure that they're hers?"

"The familymanor, the trees with branches like arms, the roses, the face of a woman, fleeing? They are all the same. And they are all signed, just like the ones you saw at the house. Now, I advise you to stay away from that house. Not because I do not want you there, there is nothing of that house I want, but because it does no one any good to stay there. That house, Mr Winchester, those paintings... They mean nothing. They are simply the reminders of a weak soul. There is nothing there anyone needs. Now, I do think I have given you what you may not have wanted, but what you may have needed to know. I would like to leave it at this. Please do not contact me again and although I realize I can not stop you if you wish to do differently, I ask you to let things be and not pursue your search for whatever it is you want. Goodday."

And with those steellaced words, the conversation ended.

Sam turned to Dean, his eyes full of shock and questions. Eyes that had looked at Dean a million times, looking for answers when he could find none.

"What the hell now?"

Dean looked away. What the hell now? It was a valid question. Jozina's words still ringing in his head.

_They are simply the reminders of a weak soul. There is nothing there anyone needs. _

He had been sure that he and Loretta had been...connected? Kindred? He had thought they'd had things in common and he'd felt for her. Had felt her pain, her burdens, her loneliness. The loneliness that turned the act of living into a mere existence. The kind of loneliness that stole away the taste of food and left you with naught but ashes in your mouth. That made every colour into fading pastels. The kind of seadeep loneliness that took away the lust for life. Now, there was nothing left of that. With Jozina's words spinning endless circles, he realised he had lost all sympathy for her, all pain. He now felt nothing but contempt for a woman who had done what he resented most in people. Maybe they had, in some way, at some point, been the same. Maybe she had painted what he felt, maybe he knew what she ran from in that painting, in her life. But he would never make the same choice.

Loretta had just...given up. She had fled her life without looking back, leaving her family to grieve for her, her daughter to be raised by someone else. She had left her life and reponsibilities, leaving others to pay the price. She had taken the easy road, putting her own needs and wants above others'. She had chosen herself above anything else and abandoned those that loved her. She had done what Dean never would, never could. They had _nothing_ in common.

Maybe he was lonely. Maybe he had lost his fire. But he would get it back. He would find it. Because as lonely as he felt at times, as hopeless as he felt sometimes, he had one thing Loretta hadn't: Sam. And he loved Sam more than anything else in this world. And as long as he knew that, as long as felt that, and all he had to do was look at Sam and he could feel it burning away, as long as he had that, then he wasn't alone. not truly.

Because wasn't love the thing that made men fight? As long as there were people in your life, close by or far away, that made you fight, loneliness wouldn't get a chance. It was when that love went away that true loneliness set in. It would creep in, slowly crawl its way into your heart and leave in its wake a pain that would hammer until it dulled. Until you got used to it, stopped fighting and start accepting. Then came the moment when you woke up and couldn't find a reason to smile. That's when it was over. Because, no matter what, there should always be something to smile about in the morning. Something that made you want to be there. not need to, not feel obliged to, but _want_ to. Loretta hadn't had that. But he did.

Because was Sam's big brother. He was Sam's brother and he wanted to be worthy of that. Knew that, to Sam, he was. But he wanted more than that. He wanted to be Dean Winchester. Sounded like a strong man. Time it felt like one too.

It was going to be hard. But he could do it. He _would_ do it. Because he was never going to be like Loretta. He hoped that she had found her place in the world, and he hoped that she could smile upon entering that place. He hoped it had been worth it.

He didn't need to run, he had that place. He just needed to learn how to smile.

He felt rather than saw his brother move. Raised his eyes to meet him halfway.

"Dean? What now?"

He looked up to find Sam still looking at him, the fear still visible around the edges of his haunted eyes. A small smile tickled his lips.

"Now we leave, Sammy."

* * *

"Now we leave, Sammy."

Sam heard the words fall from Dean's lips, felt them float through the air, rolling and bouncing around, until they landed softly at Sam's feet. The relief he felt at hearing them flooded his body. But then he looked up into his brother's face and saw the same pained look, watched as Dean tried to pull himself together. The relief slipped away from him and he didn't try to stop it, to hold onto it. This "hunt" might be over, but the effects were still there and Sam knew that this was another one of those cases where he was going to have to push Dean into talking. He knew they had to discuss this. He needed to understand what was going on here, needed to know what Dean was going through.

"Dean."

He watched his brother heaving a sigh, rolling his neck and shoulders. How many times had Dean made those seem movements. How many times had he pulled himself together, had brought himself to do things he didn't want to, just because he or John needed it from him. How many times had Dean given up on himself in order to be whatever his family wanted him to be? Demanded him to be?

"What is it, Sammy?"

He was about to adress the issue at hand when the older man sitting across from him looked up, eyes open but all muscles poised. Ready, yet again, to be the big brother, the caretaker, the one that sacrificed. But there was something else there too. A presence in his brother's eyes, an openness that had nothing to do with Sam but everything with Dean. There was something peeking from the behind those walls. Something that he didn't recognise but wanted to see more often. And he changed his mind. He didn't need to know about all this. He simply _wanted _to, the way he had always wanted to know his brother, the way he never would, until he let him be. Dean needed to _want_ to share his burden this time. There were times Sam needed to push, to keep him going, to keep them alive. But this was not one of those times. All he needed to know now was that they were leaving, would soon be seeing this town and it's sordid history disappear in the rearview mirror. All he needed to know was that Dean was with him. That his brother was with him. and the look on Dean's face right now, the one that said he was willing to do whatever it was Sam wanted, told him that. He let a careful grin climb its way around his lips.

"How about some dinner?"

He watched closely as surprise registered in familiar green eyes. Knew he'd done the right thing. Dean would tell him. Someday. Maybe years and years ahead, maybe during the endless drive towards their next hunt. Someday, he'd tell him. Seeing a small smile appear on Dean's face, the one that matched Sam's, the one that said they were brothers, was his answer.

* * *

Well...does anyone have storyideas? Hit me, I'm fresh out.


End file.
